Page 72 of Bastard
Suddenly, there’s a commotion at the dining hall door.
“You never came to bed, Barrington.”
Sabine. Looking pale, hung-over, andfurious.
Ay, qué la chingada.
She charges across the room toward Barrington, who’s standing by his seat. A unified gasp spreads across the room as she launches herself at him, body-slamming him back against the table.
Her arm lifts high.
No. Dios, no.
Her hand connects with his cheek in a slap that’s heard around the room.
My heart races from the violence, and because I know what comes next. This is the marital advice I gave her, in all its glorified ugliness.
“You can gofuckyourself.”
He reaches for her, but she sidesteps him. Then she’s moving, mindless of the spectacle she’s causing, racing across the dining hall toward the open French doors.
Our eyes connect as she hurries by.
I snatch the business card from the Russian’s hand and hurry after her. I caused this, after all.
“Get my motherfucking wife,” Barrington bellows to his guards.
I’m nearly at the door when three men storm by me. I slow my pace and follow them outside.
“Sit the fuck down,” Barrington screams from behind me. “No one leaves the room until this pricing nonsense is resolved.”
I exit seconds before the French doors close behind me.
From the terrace, I spy Sabine, who is far below, racing across a long expanse of grass with a handful of men in pursuit.
Without further thought, I chase after them.
23
Itold Sabine that the consequences of confronting her husband wouldn’t outweigh the reward. Never did I imagine she’d actually confront Barrington.
I was wrong on both counts.
“How did you get in here?” she sobs. She’s on the bathroom floor where the guards threw her, beaten and bloody. I followed them after they caught up with her, dragging her kicking and screaming back inside and into her bedroom.
I turn on the faucet to mute any listening devices.
“I picked the lock.”After hiding behind a potted plant while I waited for the guards to leave.
She smiles, then winces. “Barrington’s going to kill me.”
No, he isn’t.
“You can start over.”
She pulls herself up to stare at me. “One of them hit me in the stomach. And I’m going to have bruises on my arms.”
My fists clench.Dirty pendejos.
